Burning Rain
by Linwe Elendil
Summary: Set after the episode Hot Spot. Rated T. There's a third chapter! Sam's POV. Hope you enjoy!
1. Michael

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Burn Notice. This story was written for fun only!

My first Burn Notice story! I hope it's good...

* * *

Michael heard the door shut beneath his hands with a resounding bang. It echoed in his heart like the final nail. He'd driven around for hours – checking all her usual haunts – calling frantically every few minutes. Eventually he'd stopped leaving messages. There was nothing more to say. Not if she was gone.

"_There_ you are." The simple sentence threatened to shatter his calm façade as his mind flared to life again. "You've _got_ to get a land line in here." Turning slowly – not daring himself to hope – Michael looked at the source of the sound, and saw her. Her hair was down around her shoulders, uncharacteristically unkempt. "Poole rigged his place to burst into flames. No surprise, but I let my curiosity get away with me." As far as Michael could see she had no visible injuries, and he knew he should get a closer look, but part of him didn't want to spoil the illusion. If that's what she was.

While his heart and mind warred with the decision of what to do next, his body took matters into its own hands; dropping his keys in the general vicinity of the table before making his way over to her. "I waited for a burnout in one of the windows. Now I need a new cell phone." Her name pounded through him with every beat of his heart – every agonizingly slow step he took to reach her. His beautiful, lovely, _whole_ Fiona.

When he'd come to within a breath of her, he stopped – frozen. He could only imagine what he looked like, for the color drained from her face as she understood. "Michael, you didn't think that…" Touching her face sent a jolt through him. She was real. She was really alive. His other hand ran down her hair, and they both moved along her skin to halt on her long neck. He gently rested his wet forehead against hers as he began to breathe again. Water dripped from him onto her face, and he wasn't sure all of it was rain. Without thinking, he leaned down and brushed her lips gently with his own. Breaking off to look in her eyes once more, he held her more tightly in his arms and kissed her again. She responded, grasping onto him – seemingly oblivious to the rain water that soaked through her clothes.

He wasn't sure how long it had been when she pulled away. Michael set his jaw, preparing himself for her departure. He'd gotten too close. She was sure to run away. He was shocked when she took him by the hand and pulled him over to the bed, pushing him down to sit with one strong arm. Michael stared at the floor as her footsteps moved away from him. He listened so intently for the door that he was startled to feel a dry towel run over his hair. The cloth obscured his vision, but he waited patiently for her to finish. Michael gasped as her knee brushed between his thighs. She moved around him, prying off his wet t-shirt as she went. Soon it was in a pool on the floor, and her soft hands ran the towel over his bare torso. When she had finished, she dropped the towel in his lap and stayed still and silent before him. Finally daring himself to look up at her, he noticed just how wet she had gotten from their embrace. He stood slowly, afraid that she would run like a spooked animal, but she didn't even take a step back. They stood toe to toe as he stared down at her again.

Michael ran the towel down over her face, and she closed her eyes, sighing softly. He continued down her neck, and stopped abruptly. Their gaze met, and he asked silent permission. She blinked in response. Running his hands along her waist, he grasped the hem of her shirt. He kept eye contact, still unsure if he was crossing the line. She nodded softly, raising her arms as he rid her of the damp blouse. Wrapping his arms around her, he began drying her back. She pressed against him, her hands making their way up the muscles of his back before clasping onto his shoulders. He leaned his head down to the crook of her neck, his nose gently brushing back her hair as his lips stroked her skin. The towel fell forgotten to the floor as they clung to each other – the symphony of raindrops against the windows the only sound as their lips met. The kiss became heated, and Michael lost himself in sensation, barely registering their movement as they fell back onto the mattress.

And outside, the rain continued to fall.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please drop me a line if you liked it. :-)


	2. Fiona

Disclaimer: Wasn't planning to write a second chapter, but here it is! :-)

* * *

It'd been hours since she'd found herself trapped in Poole's house, and Fiona was getting impatient. Even after taking time out for a shower and fresh clothes at home, she'd still beaten Michael to the loft. Two helpings of yogurt later, she'd cleaned his guns. At least, all the ones she could find. She was sure he had more stashed somewhere in the place. Leaning against the bar, Fi listened to the rain – wondering idly if he'd forgotten all about her trip to the bomber's house. She swallowed hard, chasing away the voice that whispered of his ambivalence. It wouldn't leave. Fi sighed, and was about to brave the rain and head back home, when the door opened. She sat still as a deer in headlights, but nothing happened. The door was locked, but there were no footsteps, no greeting. Had he discovered the house? Was he mad that she'd gone in without him? Deciding to play ignorant, Fi turned toward the door. Michael was frozen there, drenched from the storm. But whether angry or hurt, she couldn't tell. So she played things casual – her usual default setting.

"_There_ you are." He barely moved, so she pressed on. "You've got to get a land line in here," she said, deflecting the blame as she spun to face him. He finally looked in her direction, but seemed mute. She continued. "Poole rigged his place to burst into flames." If Michael didn't already know, the news was likely to set him off, so she forged ahead. "No surprise, but I let my curiosity get away with me." She felt the heat of shame cross her face – burning brighter than the flames of the deathtrap she'd nearly died in. Pushing down the sudden hint of panic, she continued as he dropped his keys on the table and walked to her. "I waited for a burnout in one of the windows. Now I need a new cell phone."

When he finally reached her, Fi got a good look at his condition. He was drenched head to toe – and likely dripping water all over her new shoes – but it was his eyes that made her stop. They were haunted. Like he'd seen a ghost. Or was looking at one now. Everything snapped into place with painful clarity, and Fi suddenly found she couldn't breathe under the force of his gaze.

"Michael, you didn't think that…" She couldn't bring herself to finish – knowing how horrible the thought was. She'd been convinced Michael was on his way to die the day he'd driven off in Sam's car, and she hadn't slept at all that night. Clearly, Michael had just been through the same hell. His hand touched her face, and all thought disappeared. Touching her neck softly, he leaned his forehead down to hers. She responded without conscious decision – savoring the taste of rain and salt water on his lips as he kissed her. Holding his eyes for a fraction of a second, she let his mouth claim her own again, basking in the warmth of his strong arms around hers. After only a moment of hesitation, she clung to him in response.

He released her at last, frozen as carefully as a model waiting for the artist to begin. Well, artist she wasn't. But she knew what to do. Guiding him to the bed, she pushed him down to sit, momentarily alarmed at how easy the gesture was. _Maybe he's in shock_, she thought as she watched water droplets continue their way down his body. Irrationally jealous of the rain, Fiona went to grab a towel, and ran it gently over his hair and face. When that was done, she moved around him, prying up the wet material of his shirt as she went. In moments, it was in a soggy mass on the floor. Fi did her best to concentrate on Michael's individual muscles as she dried his chest. Better that than look in his eyes again. Not that she was afraid of what she might find there, but of what he might awaken in her. Stopping abruptly, she tossed the towel in his lap. She shouldn't be here – shouldn't be doing this. They weren't a couple anymore, and the sooner she accepted that, the better. But it wasn't easy. She found she couldn't move as he began drying away the makeup she hadn't realized was ruined – and the hair that his wet fingers had run through. When he reached her shirt collar, she dared to glance at him again. His eyes were frightened, hesitant. Like his hands. He didn't want to hurt her, and the look on his face plainly said that he would stop if she asked him. He even gave her the opportunity, running his hands along the hem of her shirt without lifting it.

Not giving herself a second to think, Fi nodded and raised her arms high as he rid her of the damp blouse. She swallowed heavily as he began drying her back. The way they fit together was perfect. Natural. Like there were no other people in the world more meant for each other then they were. And yet, she felt the same old underlying terror of being tied down. The ability to leave at a moment's notice had always been a safety blanket. Until he'd disappeared. He'd changed the rules – and broken her heart. She hadn't thought herself capable of forgiving him, but all it had taken was his eyes locked with hers, and the past was erased. Her steel heart had molded back into a living organ. Right now she half expected it to beat its way from her chest, as the tip of his nose brushed against her neck, followed closely by his lips. Running her hands up the taut muscles of his back, she gripped his shoulders and hung on for dear life. Hers and his.

Leaning forward gently, Fi let her momentum push them onto the mattress, shifting her attention to his sculpted chest as his hand found the clasp of her bra. She kissed him in earnest now, hardly pausing for breath as he rolled on top of her. Smiling into his mouth, she reversed the movement, gaining the higher ground again, and thought she heard him laugh. _Let the games begin,_ she thought as his tongue found the hollow of her throat, and all thoughts were blown to hell. Michael Westen could be as effective as C4, in that regard.

**xXx**

Fiona lay in silence as the loft door closed softly. He'd gone out for breakfast – she was sure of that. But the question was – was she hungry? Did she want to talk to Michael about what had happened, or did she want time to think first? _Well, _she thought irreverently, _that's a no-brainer._ Pulling her wrinkled clothes on rapidly, Fi nearly dashed down the stairs. _I'm _not_ running away,_ she told herself. _I just need time to…_ She cocked her head as she climbed into the Saab. _To… figure out my relationship with my ex-spy ex-boyfriend_ _and decide if I've lost my mind yet._

After locking the gate behind her, Fi peeled from the parking lot – letting the wind that blew through her hair distract her a bit from life. But no matter how hard she tried, the slight drizzle that followed closely behind left her paralyzed in the memory of his forehead on hers – dripping sweet water onto her aching face and neck. She sighed, stretching what muscles she could as she sped home. Her heart beat in painful rhythm again, ignoring her attempt to distance herself. _He'll find you. He always does. _

_Because he loves you._

* * *

Reviews? Pretty please?


	3. Sam

Disclaimer: Still don't own the rights. And I'm going into withdrawal! January cannot come fast enough!

This chapter is from Sam's POV. Hope you enjoy. I actually wrote this a while ago, but I couldn't find the right last line. I'm still not sure about the one I have. Oh, well…

* * *

Sam Axe answered the phone on the first ring and pressed it to his ear as a pretty waitress placed a mojito in front of him.

"Yeah?" he said into the cell as he watched her walk away.

"Sam, I need your help."

"Sure, Mikey – what's up?"

There was nothing but silence on the other end of the line.

"Mike?"

"It's Fi." Sam's brow furrowed. There was something wrong with his friend's voice.

"What happened?" he asked, throwing some money on the bar before walking away from his untouched drink.

"There was a fire," Mike mumbled. "The bomber's house…" He sounded listless. A knife twisted in Sam's gut.

"I need you to focus, buddy," he said, peeling away from the curb. "Where are you?"

"I left for Ft. Lauderdale an hour ago. Fi had a weapons cache there. I thought…"

Sam felt his blood run cold. _Had?_ "Okay, Mikey, listen – I want you to get home and _stay put_. I'll find her."

"No. I have to –"

Taking a deep breath, Sam laid into his friend. "Mike, you can't help right now. You're not thinking clearly." _Just like the other day, when you beat the crap out of me,_ he thought. "If you think I'm gonna let you get yourself killed, or arrested 'cause you left Miami, you're a bigger idiot than I ever gave you credit for!"

"Sam –" His voice shook. His friend ignored it.

"Turn around and _GO HOME!_" Sam heard Mike take in a ragged breath. "Now!"

"Alright, Sam," he said quietly. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Sam sighed. There was one hell of a storm on the way. But for Mike, it seemed to have broken early.

"Take care of yourself, okay buddy?" Sam said as he turned another corner. "I'll find her."

"Thanks, Sam," Michael replied. But there was no hope in his voice.

Without another word, Sam hung up with Mike and immediately called Fi's cell. It rolled straight to voicemail, not a good sign. "It's Fi. Leave a message." Sam took in a breath, but a computer voice interrupted what would have been a scathing voicemail.

"Mailbox full," it said dispassionately – as if the laws that governed how many messages a person could receive were more important than a woman's life. He shook his head and hung up again to call the fire department. The setting sun seemed to take his patience along with it as it sunk below the horizon.

He'd been transferred to another extension so many times by now that he was seriously considering burying himself in a beer the size of the Atlantic Ocean. Instead, he kept driving – checking all the customary meeting places, and a few locales he knew Fi preferred for her gun deals. He was sure Mike had tried them all, but it didn't hurt to double check. Maybe he'd missed her the first time around.

Or maybe she wouldn't be coming back.

A voice cut into his macabre thoughts. "This is Chief Waterman – can I help you?" Sam tried not to laugh at the irony of the guy's name.

"This is Chuck Finley – reporter with the Herald. I heard there was a fire out at…" he paused long enough to grab the piece of paper on which he'd scrawled the address and read it off to the man. "I was just wondering if I could get any details. Was anyone hurt?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't give out that information."

Sam rolled his eyes, but played along. "Look, I know, man. I understand, but can I just tell you the position I'm in? My editor is out for blood. He's looking for something with some action for tomorrow's paper. No one's buying 'em anymore. Can't you give me anything? Throw me a bone?"

"Well…"

Sam prayed. He actually said a silent prayer that the man on the other end of the line would give him the information he needed. And that preferably it would be what he wanted to hear. Well, if "Come on, you son-of-a-bitch" could be counted as a prayer. But he meant well.

"We did hear from witnesses that someone had gone in the structure, but we haven't recovered a body. I highly doubt there was anyone in there."

Exhaling slowly, Sam switched the phone to the other ear. "You're sure? That's all you've got for me?"

"Yeah. No sign of human remains. By all accounts, the house hadn't been lived in in a while. Probably why it took so long to put the fire out. Dry grass, and all of that," he added. _And a couple gallons of lighter fluid, _Sam thought.

"Okay," he said, the knot in his chest loosening only a fraction. _If Fi wasn't there, then where is she?_ he wondered. "Thanks." He was about to hang up on the man when he spoke again.

"There was one other thing."

"Yeah?"

"Some guy pulled up to the house while we were trying to contain the blaze. Kept yelling something about a woman that might have been trapped. Took three of us to stop him from running in after her." Sam swallowed hard. _Mike._ "Finally left, though. Don't know if that'll help you."

"Sure," Sam did his best to sound excited despite his nausea. "My editor will eat that up. Mystery man desperately seeking woman possibly caught in burning building. Modern day Romeo and Juliet."

"I guess," the fire chief said. Sam hung up without another word, tossing his phone disgustedly into the passenger seat. He gripped the steering wheel hard in both hands. _No sign of human remains_, he kept telling himself. A little voice kept nagging at the back of his mind. _Why are you so concerned, anyway? _it asked. He pulled to the side of the road and closed his eyes.

_Because it's Michael_, he answered. _This could destroy him. And I won't let anything destroy my friends._ He shook his head at the "s" he'd put on the end of "friend" – knowing against his better judgment that the term applied to Fi, too. He didn't think he'd ever completely trust her, but Mike did, and that was good enough for him. But she was crazy. No doubt about that. He laughed as he recalled the time she'd tasered that Russian kidnapper – despite the fact that he'd grabbed hold of her leg. The memory made him take a deep breath. "I swear, Fi – if you're dead, I'm gonna kill you."

Peeling away from yet another curb, Sam drove on. He even tried contacting Seymour. Now _there_ was a fruitcake. Their conversation consisted mainly of the man yelling at some jackass. He'd seemed genuinely concerned about Fi, but didn't have any helpful intel. _He probably doesn't have _any_ intelligence,_ Sam thought. _How this moron's lasted so long in his business… Must be sheer dumb luck._ What he wouldn't give for some of that right now.

Two hours later, barely able to see through his windshield in the pouring rain, Sam had to admit defeat. It tasted bitter in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to accept the idea that Fi was dead, but he didn't have any leads. Taking the long route to Mike's loft, Sam tried desperately to come up with something he could tell his friend. But there was nothing – no salve that would make it all go away.

Sam left the car parked in front of the nightclub and pried open the door to the back. There were two dark shapes sitting before him. But he couldn't make them out. There was too much rain and too little moonlight. Stepping to his left, his shin came into painful contact with Mike's Charger. Swearing, he rubbed the spot vigorously – hoping it wouldn't bruise. Walking carefully to the right, he found another car. It was nearly black – a convertible. He stopped, shocked. It was Fi's Saab. _If she's alive,_ he thought, _why the _hell_ didn't either one of them call me?! _

Stomping up the stairs to the loft, Sam raised his fist to pound on the door. But something stopped him. He stood there – rain drenching him as he stared at Mike's new door. Remembered how worried he'd been for his friend when their call had cut off in a rush of fire. How his heart beat in his throat the entire time it'd taken to get to the loft. _Twenty minutes of hell,_ he thought. Had it only been a few days ago? He checked his watch. Hours had passed since Mike had first called him. Heaven only knew how long he'd suffered with the idea that Fi was dead. Sighing heavily, Sam dropped his hand and turned for the stairs.

_I'll give them tonight,_ he thought. _But tomorrow, they sure as hell had better have some answers for me._

* * *

The End!

I really don't think there's anyone else's perspective I could use for this. Unless I decide to throw Madeline in.

Dang it. Now I might just have to do that. No promises, though!


End file.
